


What Trigonometry Couldn't Solve

by AppleTaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Derek has a phd in mechanical engineering, Derek has a tattoo kink, Human AU, M/M, Punk Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is a hardcore kid studying math at junior college, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, and a smoking kink, and now he's a very overqualified mechanic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleTaters/pseuds/AppleTaters
Summary: When Derek decided to earn his PhD in mechanical engineering, veering from the prestigious career path his father had laid out for him since infancy, his family assumed he’d end up working in the clean energy field, or building rockets, or something equally ostentatious. No one, least of all Derek, expected him to fall in love with a small town on the West Coast with no local tech industry to speak of, and set up a humble mechanics shop. In walks Stiles, a tattooed punk with a broken-down old Jeep, and Derek has never been more sure of his decision to move to Beacon Hills.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	1. Impulse Crush

**Author's Note:**

> I know Literally Nothing about cars OR mechanics OR engineering OR math, so of course I decided to write a story combining all those things! Please forgive any inconsistencies with reality !!! I swear I googled everything extensively, but alas, I am a liberal arts major to the core. The title is taken from a song by my favorite hardcore band, God Program, and the chapters will be named after songs as well. I made a playlist of the music Stiles listens to (it's not all hardcore); it's on spotify under the same name. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2cadeW0pqEmvNxfOoZO1oQ?si=3e9in-49R4OTvgISUKndfQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song Impulse Crush by Ithaca

When Derek decided to earn his PhD in mechanical engineering, veering from the prestigious career path his father had laid out for him since infancy, his family assumed he’d end up working in the clean energy field, or building rockets, or something equally ostentatious. No one, least of all Derek, expected him to fall in love with a small town on the West Coast with no local tech industry to speak of. When he told his mother he’d bought a humble auto mechanics shop in Beacon Hills, California, she had paused for a long moment, and then asked simply, “Will this make you happy?”

Derek had always been the most withdrawn of his siblings and, since he’d been diagnosed with major depressive disorder in his sophomore year of college, his mother tended to give him free reign to do whatever he wanted, within reason. It didn’t exactly make up for the emotional pressure cooker he’d grown up in, with its constant demand for a level of perfection he’d never been able to reach to his parents’ satisfaction, but Derek knew that she was trying, if only to assuage her own guilt. 

“I think it will,” he’d answered truthfully, and his mother had told him that as long as he was happy, she and his father would be happy for him. Derek knew it wasn’t exactly true— his father was still a little bitter that his only son wouldn’t be following in his footsteps at Hale Health— but he appreciated the sentiment. Besides, his older sister Laura would make a way better industry professional than Derek ever would have; his father would come around eventually.

Ever since he was just a kid, Derek had been fascinated by machines. This manifested in several ways, the most embarrassing of which being a fleeting passion for “Battle Bots”— small robots, built by incredibly dorky kids such as himself, which fought each other in mini tournaments.By the time he reached high school, however, Derek turned his interest to cars, and he spent most of his senior year fixing up a ’67 Ford Falcon that he somehow convinced his father to buy for him. He went into mechanical engineering because he thought it was the logical next step, but he eventually realized that nothing gave him that same feeling of bone-deep satisfaction as he got when he was really getting his hands dirty. Then one day, he was driving through Beacon Hills on his way up to Seattle, and he instantly felt at home there. He couldn’t explain what had drawn him in so thoroughly, but he was charmed by the small town’s quirky inhabitants, as well as the expansive and beautiful nature preserve on the edge of town. So, when his trip to Seattle was over, he drove back to Beacon Hills for another visit and just… never left.

Derek’s scrappy little auto shop opened a few months after he officially moved to town, and he knew pretty quickly that it was the best choice he’d ever made. He met Erica at a bar, and offered her a job interview on the spot after she matched him beat-for-beat in a drunken debate about the ideal crankshaft configuration for optimal balance of kinetic energy exchange in two-stroke L6 engines. If she could hold her own against a doctor of mechanical engineering after five shots, Derek didn’t care that she had no formal training or experience. She came in the following Monday and completed his makeshift practical exam in record time. Boyd joined the team a month later, and the two immediately hit it off. They thought Derek hadn’t noticed the longing glances, but it was pretty damn obvious his employees were romantically involved. He didn’t mind, as long as they didn’t get handsy on the clock. He was happy for them, and definitely not at all bitter that he hadn’t gone on a single date since his undergraduate days.

Derek heard rather than saw someone pull in to the parking lot of Alpha Auto, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he winced at the intermittent, piercing whine coming from the car’s engine.

Boyd started for the reception area, but Derek waved him off.

“I’ll get this one before I head out,” he said, and Boyd smiled gratefully, ducking back under the hood of a silver Toyota.

Derek weaved through the garage towards the side door, wiping his grease-stained hands on the bandana in his back pocket, and walked into the adjoining waiting room. The air conditioning hit his sweat-slicked skin like a freezing cold wave, and he suppressed a shudder. Derek walked behind the welcome desk, and shuffled through the drawers looking for a pen so whoever was coming in could sign the necessary paperwork.

“Erica steals all the pens, I swear to god,” he muttered to himself as he rifled through drawer after drawer to no avail. “What the fuck does she even do with them all?”

“She probably just does it to annoy the boss,” someone said from the other side of the desk. Surprised he hadn’t heard the door open, Derek turned his head and found himself looking at a walking wet dream. 

Derek had sort of a secret thing for men in the “alternative” crowd, and this guy looked like the poster boy for punk. If punks handed out promotional brochures, he would be on the cover. Tattoos splashed across every visible inch of his skin, spilling out from under the sleeves of his black t-shirt and crawling up his neck. His earlobes were stretched around modest black plugs, and his hair was buzzed in a messy undercut. In contrast, his wide brown eyes were like something out of a Disney cartoon, and the man’s mouth was quirked into a sweet smile. Everything below his waist was hidden behind the desk, but Derek was willing to bet that he was wearing tight, black jeans. Derek wanted to know if the man’s tattoos spread across his chest and down under his waistband, wanted to follow the path of them with his tongue.

Mentally shaking himself, Derek tried to remember what the beautiful stranger had said.

“What?”

“I used to take stuff from my more soul-sucking jobs. Just little things, I mean. Made me feel like I was sort of sticking it to the establishment, y’know? It was like, my boss might be paying me minimum wage, but at least I have my growing collection of stolen paper clips to keep me warm at night.”

Derek smiled at the man’s rambling explanation, and the way his hands were in constant motion while he talked.

“Nah, Erica is much more straightforward with her endeavors to piss me off,” he said, pushing the drawers closed and straightening up, noting that he was taller than the other man by several inches.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure my employees have _each other_ to keep them warm at night, if you know what I mean.”

Stiles laughed, tipping his head back to expose the pale line of his neck. There was a black bat tattooed over most of his throat, and Derek felt his cheeks flush.

“You must be the alpha himself, then,” the man said with a grin.

“Call me Derek.”

“I’m Stiles,” the handsome stranger replied.

_“Stiles?”_ Derek repeated incredulously, and Stiles grimaced in a way that clearly said he was used to that reaction.

“My real name is totally unpronounceable. Believe me, Stiles is better,” he explained.

“Okay,” Derek said with a grin, “Cool. Nice to meet you, Stiles.”

“Nice to meet you too, Derek, though I wish it was under different circumstances,” the other man said, motioning back towards the parking lot.

“Yeah, your car did not sound happy,” Derek admitted.

“Yup,” Stiles said, popping the _p_ , “hence why I am here, making your acquaintance.”

“Well, you can just leave it with us for an hour or so and we’ll run some tests to figure out what’s wrong, and then we can talk about getting it fixed,” Derek said, putting on his customer service voice.

“How much do the tests cost?” Stiles asked. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth, and Derek’s brain blue-screened for a second.

“Uh,” he said eloquently, forcing himself to look away from Stiles’ mouth so he could think clearly, “the tests are free, and then we’ll give you a breakdown of how much the repairs would cost.”

“Okay. It’s just, I’m, like, totally broke,” he said, running a hand through his hair nervously, “and my Jeep crapping out on me is literally the last thing I needed. And it’s kind of a family heirloom, so I’m kinda stressing.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t do anything without telling you how much it costs first. And I promise our prices are very reasonable. That’s the Hale guarantee,” Derek said, flashing a reassuring smile.

Stiles smiled back, looking slightly less nervous.

“We just need your keys and then we can get started. You have to sign something before we can look at your car, but it doesn’t mean you’ll have to pay for anything,” Derek said, opening the top drawer and pulling out a clipboard of forms.

“Too bad there are no pens, then,” Stiles teased, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and putting them on the counter.

Derek groaned, mentally cursing Erica.

“It’s cool dude, I have one in my bag,” Stiles said with a laugh, and Derek noticed for the first time that he was wearing a backpack. _Shit, shit, shit_. Had Derek been ogling a _high schooler?_

“Are you over eighteen?” Derek asked as Stiles fished a pen out of his backpack, feeling vaguely queasy.

“It’s just, if you’re not then you need a guardian to sign the form.”

Stiles chuckled, placed a ballpoint pen on top of the clipboard, and fixed Derek with a knowing look.

“I’m twenty-three, dude,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh,” Derek said with relief, and dropped his gaze to where the other man’s hands gripped the edge of the desk, “right.”

“I should have known, I guess, what with all the tattoos,” Derek continued, trying to will down his blush as his eyes raked over Stiles’ ink-covered skin.

Stiles looked down at his arms, holding them out in front of him.

“I actually got about a quarter of these when I was still in high school,” he admitted, and looked back up at Derek with a wry smile, “and out of those, I only regret about half.”

Derek chuckled, finally dragging his eyes away from Stiles’ arms to meet his eyes. 

“Well, they look good on you,” he said without thinking, and barely resisted smacking his palm against his forehead. Blatantly hitting on customers was _not_ a good look.

But Stiles just smiled even wider and leaned his elbows on the desk, bringing his face closer to Derek’s.

“Yeah?” he said, his Bambi eyes crinkling in amusement, and Derek swallowed.

“Bet they’d look better on you, what with all those muscles,” Stiles’ eyes trailed appreciatively over his body.

“More space to work with.”

“Just the one is enough for me,” Derek said, fighting the urge to fidget under the heat of the other man’s gaze.

Stiles eyebrows shot up. 

“You have a tattoo? Where is it?”

“Upper back,” Derek answered, reaching a hand back between his shoulder blades.

“I’d show you, but I think taking one’s shirt off at work is generally frowned upon.”

A mischievous grin spread across Stiles’ face.

“How about some other time?” he asked, and Derek’s heart skipped a beat.

Before Derek could respond with something like _yes, absolutely, please, God, yes,_ the door to the garage swung open and Boyd stepped through.

It was like a spell had broken, and Derek and Stiles snapped upright from where they’d been leaning towards each other over the desk. Derek stared resolutely at the wall, avoiding Boyd’s eyes, while Stiles snagged the pen and hastily scribbled a signature at the bottom of the form that had been lying, forgotten, on the desktop.

“Okay. I’ll just. I’ll be back. In like, an hour, you said?” Stiles stammered, grabbing his backpack and walking backwards towards the exit.

Derek nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice, and Stiles gave a small wave before turning and disappearing out the door.

Derek felt Boyd’s eyes on him and scowled.

“Shut up, Boyd.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly,” Derek snapped, sounding petulant even to his own ears.

“Now come on, we only have an hour before he comes back,” he said, grabbing Stiles’ keys off the desk, and shouldered his way past his employee into the garage.

“I thought you were going home,” Boyd said casually, and Derek flipped him off over his shoulder.

* * *

“God _damn_ it,” Derek cried, slamming an open hand against the rim of the steering wheel. He debated with himself for a whole ten seconds before he came to a decision, turning off the Jeep and climbing out of the driver’s seat.

“So what’s the diagnosis?” Boyd called out, leaning against the back wall.

“The transmission is done for,” Derek admitted grimly, hanging up Stiles’ keys.

Boyd whistled.

“That’s rough,” he said, and punched Derek’s arm lightly as he passed him on the way into the back room.

“Better ask him out first, then. Rope him in, and then break the news.”

Derek rolled his eyes and started rummaging through the filing cabinet in the tiny office.

“It’s not even about that, man. The poor guy was already so stressed about how he was going to pay to fix his Jeep, and that was before it turned out to be the fucking _transmission._ ”

He pulled out a sheet of blue paper and pushed the filing cabinet closed with his elbow. Sitting down at the cluttered desk, Derek grabbed a pen out of a dusty mug and began filling out the form with the parts he’d need to order. He left the “Cost” column empty, instead skipping straight to the line at the bottom labeled “Total”. Derek paused, scratching at his temple with the end of the pen, second-guessing himself. What if Stiles was manipulating him somehow, making up a sob story in the hopes that Derek would do exactly what he was about to do? But something in Derek’s gut told him that Stiles wouldn’t do that, that Stiles could be trusted. Besides, it’s not like he could get fired; he owned the fucking shop, and Derek could definitely afford it. Before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote down what Stiles would owe him and stood up, completed form in hand.

He strode confidently past Boyd towards the waiting room, only to immediately freeze when he saw the object of his hopeless affections through the glass pane in the door. He was talking animatedly over the desk with Erica, who had come in for her shift. Stiles said something that had Erica dissolving into coquettish giggles, which was actually somewhat horrifying. Erica did not _giggle;_ not even Boyd had ever gotten such a reaction out of her. Silently cursing Stiles’ universal appeal, Derek pushed the door open.

Stiles looked up, and his smile went from bright to _blinding_. 

“Derek, hi!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his messy hair.

Erica raised her eyebrows at the obvious tension in the room, but Derek ignored her. He had to endure her and Boyd being disgustingly in love every day so he figured, hey, turnabout is fair play.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek replied, and the two men just stood there smiling shyly at each other until Erica pointedly cleared her throat.

“Oh, right, so, about your car,” Derek said, and walked behind the desk to stand next to Erica.

“Unfortunately, your Jeep’s transmission is completely shot,” Derek said somberly.

“You’re lucky you managed to get it here without a tow truck.”

“Oof,” Erica muttered, and Derek kicked her foot beneath the desk, hopefully conveying that she needed to _shut up_.

Stiles’ face creased with worry and he raised a hand to his mouth, chewing anxiously on his thumbnail.

“The good news is, it’s a relatively easy fix,” Derek lied, eager to wipe the stress off the other man’s face.

“What are you—” Erica started to say, but Derek quickly interrupted her, smacking down the form he’d filled out.

“It’ll be $300 to replace the transmission.”

Relief washed over Stiles’ face and he wiped a hand over his face with a wry chuckle.

“Thank god,” he said, looking down at the form with a small smile, “I was so worried, you have no idea.”

Erica was seemingly shocked into silence. Either that, or she understood what Derek was doing and realized it wasn’t her call either way.

Derek knew he was being just a bit ridiculous. He would have to pay about $3500 out of pocket to cover the rest of the cost of fixing Stiles’ car. Not to mention that if word ever got out that Derek gave someone a new transmission for less than a tenth of the usual cost, he’d have a lot of angry and entitled customers banging down his door.

Just seeing Stiles’ brilliant smile made it all worth it. 

_Shit_ , he was so gone on this guy already.

Derek went over the details of the repair with Stiles and took down his information, telling the other man his car would be ready in a few days. Stiles agreed to come back on Friday and left with a smile, a wave, and a cheerful _“See ya, Derek!”_

The second he was out the door, Erica swung a kick at Derek’s shin, which he deftly sidestepped with a scowl.

“Three _hundred_?” she screeched, eyes wide, and Derek waved his hand dismissively.

“I’ll cover the rest, Erica, it’s no big deal.”

Erica scoffed.

“Yeah, no big deal. Sure.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise, and…” Derek shifted his weight nervously, “I just didn’t want to see his face when I told him his car was basically scrap metal.”

Erica chuckled and patted his arm fondly.

“You’ve got it _bad_ , Derek.”

Derek sighed wistfully, not even bothering to try and deny it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”


	2. Square One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song Square One by Limp Wrist

He technically wasn’t supposed to work on Friday, but there was no way Derek was staying home. Stiles hadn’t said what time he would be there to pick up his Jeep, so Derek arrived at the shop before Boyd had even unlocked the door. 

He smirked, but said nothing, for which Derek was grateful. The anticipation of seeing Stiles again had him on edge already; having to defend himself to his employee would just hammer home how pathetic Derek was being.

The morning passed slowly, every hour dragging on for what felt like a lifetime. Erica, who was working the front desk, eventually got tired of Derek’s impatient glances at the clock and disappointed sighs every time the door opened and it wasn’t Stiles. 

“Go on,” she said, shoving him towards the garage, “go fix something, use your hands. It will help relieve some of your sexual frustration.”

“But—” Derek spluttered, and Erica rolled her eyes.

“I’ll come get you when your loverboy shows up, okay?”

Derek cast one last look at the door before giving in. He shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it up before going to see what he could help Boyd with.

He was elbows-deep in the guts of a Honda when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Could you pass me the socket wrench on that table?” he asked, reaching a hand out behind him.

“Um, I totally would, but I have no idea what that is,” Stiles replied, and Derek tried to straighten up in surprise, hissing when the top of his head slammed into the open hood of the car.

He spun around to face the other man, rubbing a hand over the tender spot on the back of his skull.

“I thought you were Boyd,” he said sheepishly.

“Is your head okay?” Stiles asked, wincing in sympathy.

Derek chuckled, pulling his trusty bandana out of his back pocket to wipe his hands.

“I think I still have some brain cells left.”

“Yeah?” Stiles smiled playfully, “What’s the capital of Mali?”

“Bamako,” Derek answered, tossing the oil-stained bandana on the work bench.

Stiles blinked.

“I have no idea if that’s right,” he admitted, and Derek laughed.

“What are you doing back here, anyway?” he asked.

“Customers aren’t generally allowed in the garage. Your Jeep is in the parking lot.”

Stiles shoved his hands in this pockets and shrugged.

“Erica said you wanted to talk to me,” he said, and bit his lip, “but if I’m not supposed to be in here—”

“No, no,” Derek said, raising his hands placatingly, “it’s fine, Stiles. As the owner, I can make an exception for you.”

Stiles’ answering smile was wide and bright and beautiful, and Derek felt his mouth move without his permission. 

“Have dinner with me.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, and Derek’s stomach tied itself up in knots.

“I— I mean,” Derek stuttered, “would you like to have dinner? With me. Tomorrow?”

Stiles smiled slowly, and Derek’s stomach unclenched slightly.

“You don’t do this a lot, huh?” he teased, and Derek just bit his lip and shook his head, seeing no point in lying. He knew what people assumed when they looked at him, but in reality he was pretty inexperienced with the whole dating… thing.

“Well, me neither,” Stiles admitted with a shy grin, “and yes, I would love to have dinner.”

“Okay,” Derek said, letting out a breath of relief.

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Erica poked her head in from the waiting room.

“I hope y’all aren’t doing anything unsanitary in there!”

Derek choked on air, and Stiles’ blush deepened.

“Fuck off, Erica!” Derek shouted back, and Stiles giggled. It was the cutest sound Derek had ever heard. It should be illegal for someone to simultaneously be so hot and so adorable. 

“How does six o’clock sound? You can pick the restaurant,” Derek said.

“Six sounds good! I don’t eat out a lot though, so, uh…” Stiles’ eyebrows knitted together for a moment.

“Oh!” he exclaimed with a grin, “How about the drive-in? The one next to the high school, I mean.”

“I know the one,” Derek replied with a grin. In fact, he went there so often he was on a first-name basis with the owner. Bobby Finstock was undeniably a bizarre little man, but everyone knew he made the best burgers in Beacon Hills.

“Awesome! I’ll see you there at six, then,” Stiles said with a wide smile.

“Now, I’m just gonna go before I inadvertently cause you more physical harm and you change your mind about tomorrow.”

Derek chuckled, biting back the words that threatened to spill out of his mouth— _you could do anything you want to me and I’d probably let you, as long as I got to see you smile like that_. 

He settled instead for a quiet _see you_ as Stiles turned and headed back to the waiting room. When he was through the door and out of sight, Derek turned back to the repairs he’d been doing, but he found he was unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Derek tried to be patient, he really did, but when the clock ticked over to four o’clock he finally gave up on the pretense of reading. It would be good to have an extra hour, anyway, he told himself. He’d have time to get ready, and then relax for a while before he had to leave to meet Stiles.

He was wrong. So very, very wrong.

By five o’clock, Derek had tried on what felt like every article of clothing in his possession and had settled on, and then changed his mind about, four different outfits so far. He’d never given much thought to what he wore before, but this felt different. This was _Stiles._ Stiles was not only incredibly handsome, he clearly had a distinct style, and Derek was afraid of looking too boring, too “basic”, and losing the other man’s interest. Running his hands through his hair anxiously, Derek cursed his nerves, and then decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

Erica picked up on the second ring.

“What’s up, Derek?” she asked distractedly.

“I know this is pretty unprofessional but, uh…” Derek sighed, embarrassed that it had come to this.

“You want fashion advice for your date with tall, tatted, and handsome?”

“Yes,” he bit out, and then, after a beat, tacked on a, “please.”

“Okay, well, first of all, you’re just going to a diner, so keep it casual. Second of all, he’s seen you in your work clothes, so don’t worry about it too much.”

Derek started to protest, but Erica cut him off.

“But, since you asked so _kindly_ ,” she said, and Derek could practically hear the smirk in her voice, “wear those black straight-leg jeans, the ones you always say hurt your balls, and a plain white t-shirt. And wear your leather biker jacket, the vintage one. Oh, and your Doc Martens.”

“I’m gonna look like I escaped from the set of _Grease_ ,” Derek muttered darkly, but dutifully started searching for the uncomfortably tight pants in the pile of discarded clothes on his bed. God knows Erica had better taste than he did, and he had to admit those pants _did_ make his ass look good.

“Yes, and it’s going to be hot,” Erica said emphatically.

Derek heard a muffled male voice on Erica’s end, which Derek assumed was Boyd.

Erica laughed, and then said, rather breathlessly, “Have fun with Stiles! Bye!”

And then she hung up.

Derek looked down at his phone with a grimace, seriously concerned that he had just heard his employees doing something he really shouldn’t have, but shook his head to dismiss the thought and went back to searching for the right clothes.

He finally finished fiddling with his hair at thirty minutes to six, just enough time to make it to the diner a few minutes early. Derek practically ran to his car, but he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him pause. He looked down at his ridiculous outfit, and then over to the other half of his garage.

In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Before he could waste any more time, Derek tugged his helmet on, threw his leg over the hulking black motorcycle, and sped towards the downtown with a roar.

He bad barely gotten his helmet off, reaching up to try to salvage his hair, when Stiles spotted him and made his way over with a smile. He had been standing outside the diner, waiting, and he held a lit cigarette loosely in his left hand.

“Holy shit, Derek,” he exclaimed with a surprised laugh, taking in the gleaming black motorcycle Derek was still straddling. And then his eyes moved up Derek’s body and his grin became more mischievous.

“Or should I say Danny Zuko?” 

“Shut up,” Derek reflexively said with a frown, and Stiles laughed again.

“No, seriously,” he continued as Derek dismounted and secured his helmet to the bike, “I’m sorry I decided not to wear my pleather catsuit.”

Derek groaned.

"I’m gonna kill Erica,” Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to stop his cheeks from burning.

“No, no,” Stiles said quickly, his hands coming up in a placating gesture, “it’s not bad. Not bad at all. You look…” 

The other man’s gaze dragged down his body, lingering on the leather jacket that stretched taut over Derek’s wide shoulders, and swallowed.

“Good. You look good,” he said softly, and Derek grinned.

“Well, you look good, too,” Derek said truthfully.

Stiles was wearing an outfit very similar to what he’d worn the past two times Derek had seen him, but he’d swapped the plain black t-shirt for a black short-sleeved button-up, and his hair looked a bit more _artfully tousled_ than usual.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, his cheeks going pink, and he raised the cigarette in his hand to his mouth and took a drag. Derek couldn’t help but watch, enraptured, as Stiles wrapped his pink lips around the cigarette, his cheeks hollowing as he inhaled. Stiles blew the smoke to the side, away from Derek, and grimaced.

“I’m sorry, I know, it’s disgusting,” Stiles said, gesturing with the cigarette.

“No, it’s okay,” Derek said, aware that Stiles had probably misinterpreted Derek’s staring, “I don’t mind, really.”

Stiles smiled shyly.

“I swear I won’t do it around you usually, I’m just kinda nervous,” he admitted.

“Why are you nervous?” Derek asked, and Stiles’ grin widened.

“Well, see, I have this date with this really _really_ cute guy tonight,” he joked before taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I’ll kill him,” Derek deadpanned, and Stiles choked on smoke as he laughed.

“Alright, big guy,” he said, dropping the spent cigarette in the street, “let’s go eat before you get any ideas.”

Derek nodded, and the two of them made their way into the restaurant.

He had barely crossed the threshold of the diner when Bobby appeared, as if he had sensed Derek coming.

“Superman!” he exclaimed with a manic smile, and Derek barely suppressed rolling his eyes.

“I’ve told you not to call me that, Bobby,” he said, glancing at Stiles, who looked torn between confusion and amusement— a common reaction to Bobby Finstock.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bobby said dismissively, and then fixed his gaze on Stiles.

“And who do we have here?” his eyes widened as he took in the shorter man’s unconventional appearance.

“I’m Stiles,” he said with a nervous grin.

“You know,” Bobby said, leaning into Derek conspiratorially, “there are a few simple rules that I choose to live by.”

He held up a hand and counted on his fingers as he spoke.

“Never get less than twelve hours of sleep on Saturday, never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city, and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger. You stick to those like the law, and the rest will be sweet, sweet gravy.”

There was a beat of silence as the other two men processed this.

“I don’t actually have a tattoo of a dagger,” Stiles said hesitantly.

“You don’t look much like a woman, either,” Bobby said with a snort, shooting Derek a look as if to say _this one’s not too bright, huh,_ and then turned to grab two menus from behind the counter. He motioned for Stiles and Derek to follow him as he walked back into the diner.

“Is this table alright, Superman?” he asked, stopping in front of a four-person table against the window.

“Yes, Bobby, this is great,” Derek said as Stiles slid into the booth, “thank you.”

Derek sat down opposite Stiles as Bobby put two menus down on the table and said he’d be back to take their order in a few minutes.

“Thanks,” Stiles said with a polite smile, and opened the menu curiously.

“Have you been here before?” Derek asked, not bothering with the menu.

“Yeah, a few times, but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting that particular waiter,” Stiles said, looking up to meet Derek’s eyes with amusement plain on his features.

“Yeah, he’s actually the owner, so he’s usually behind the scenes,” Derek explained, chuckling when Stiles looked surprised.

“I know, he’s… a lot,” Derek said with a wry smile.

“Why does he call you Superman?” Stiles asked, and Derek sighed.

“I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

Stiles tilted his head thoughtfully, studying Derek across the table.

“You do kinda have that vibe going for you,” he said finally, and turned back to his menu.

“What, having secret alien parents and superpowers?” Derek scoffed, and Stiles chuckled, not looking up.

“More like being disturbingly handsome,” he muttered, barely audible. Derek wasn’t sure if Stiles meant for him to hear, but he couldn’t stop the blush that painted his cheeks.

Derek was saved from having to respond when Bobby appeared next to their table once more to take their orders.

“I presume you want the regular, Superman?” he asked Derek, and Derek nodded, handing Bobby his unopened menu.

“What’s the regular?” Stiles asked curiously.

“Cheeseburger— extra cheese, hold the pickles— curly fries, and a chocolate milkshake,” Bobby recited, and Stiles’ eyebrows shot up.

“I’ll have that too,” he said, handing Bobby his menu, “but with pickles, and a strawberry shake, please.”

“Coming right up, gentlemen!” Bobby said with a grin, scribbling down their orders, and then disappeared.

“Why did you look so surprised at my order?” Derek asked, shrugging out of his leather jacket.

Stiles huffed a laugh, and gave a pointed look at Derek’s exposed chest. Derek looked down at himself, wondering if he’d somehow managed to get his shirt dirty or something, but there was nothing there.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Dude,” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing animatedly at Derek, “you’re, like, a Greek god. You’re basically sculpted from marble. I guess I’m just surprised you manage to keep that level of hotness while eating cheeseburgers and milkshakes all the time. Also, you don’t like pickles, and I think you might actually have secret alien parents because that is just un-American.”

Derek chuckled at Stiles’ outburst.

“I barely even work out, actually. I just have a fast metabolism,” he said with a shrug.

Stiles just stared at him, looking scandalized, before shaking his head and looking away.

“You still didn’t address the matter of the pickles,” Stiles muttered.

Derek tipped his head back and laughed, way too loudly for the semi-crowded restaurant. He earned their table some annoyed looks, but he didn’t care. Stiles started softly laughing too, probably at Derek, but he didn’t care about that either. No one had made him laugh so hard, so often, in a very long time. 

With Stiles, everything was so _easy_. They bantered, they laughed, they talked about movies and books and music and which is the supreme flavor of Oreo, they got into a curly-fry-stealing-battle, and Derek found he was happier than he’d been in… well, in years, if he was being honest with himself.

The only hiccup came when Stiles insisted they split the check.

“Stiles, you just had to pay me to fix your Jeep, let me pay for your dinner,” Derek argued, pulling the check towards him.

“I was paying you for a good and-slash-or service! You don’t owe me, that’s not how that works!” Stiles exclaimed, tugging the check back to his side of the table.

“That’s not what I meant, Stiles, I just meant—” Derek paused, unsure how to say _I’m disgustingly wealthy and you said you were broke_ without potentially offending the other man.

Stiles took Derek’s hesitation as confirmation that he’d won the argument, and threw his card down in the tray with a cry of victory. Not wanting to push the issue and ruin what had been a pretty perfect date, Derek sighed and pulled out enough cash to cover his half.

“Fine, but I cover the tip,” he said as he threw the money down on top of Stiles’ card, fixing him with a stare that dared the other man to object.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but Derek firmly held his gaze, and Stiles eventually sat back in the booth with a huff.

“Fine,” he said petulantly, crossing his arms, but then smiled.

“Thank you, Derek, really. This was really, really great.”

“It was,” Derek agreed with a grin, “really.”

When the check was finally paid, and Derek had thrown down an extra twenty for the tip, he and Stiles made their way out of the restaurant, which was noticeably much emptier than when they had arrived. 

Derek walked Stiles to his car, his hand placed gently on the small of the other man’s back. It seemed almost like Stiles was purposefully walking slower so Derek’s hand would press against him more firmly, but he was probably imagining it. Nonetheless, that modest bit of contact had his heart pounding by the time they reached the Jeep.

When he reached the driver’s side door, Stiles turned around to look at Derek. Because Derek had been walking so close behind him, their faces were only inches from each other, and Stiles’ eyes flicked down to Derek’s mouth expectantly. Derek licked his lips, and Stiles’ lips parted in a small gasp. 

Derek was pleased he had that sort of effect on Stiles, of course he was, but…

“I’m afraid if I kiss you, I won’t know how to stop,” Derek whispered.

Stiles looked up and met Derek’s gaze questioningly.

“I really want to do things… properly. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he tried to explain.

“I’d really like to see you again, Stiles.”

The other man smiled softly.

“I’d really like that too. I’d also really like to kiss you, but we can take things slowly. That’s totally fine with me,” Stiles said quietly, and then slowly pushed up on his tippy toes to press a brief and gentle kiss to Derek’s cheek.

Derek was sure there was far too much emotion in his expression for a first date, and he only hoped Stiles couldn’t see his face too clearly in the darkened parking lot.

“Goodnight, Derek.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek said in return, and then turned and walked back to his motorcycle, once again unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face. Stiles was amazing, and Derek decided right then and there that he was going to do everything in his power to make him his. 


	3. Tunnel Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song Tunnel Vision II by Senza
> 
> I am SO sorry this took so hecking long, depression has been kicking my butt lately. I'll try to update more often I swear!

The next morning, Derek woke up to a text from Stiles.

_S: Hope you got home okay on that death machine_

Smiling so wide he felt like his cheeks were going to crack, Derek replied.

_D: It’s not dangerous if you know how to ride properly_

_S: Oh I know how to ride properly, big guy ;)_

Derek felt his face blush to the roots of his hair, but before he could think of a response, another text came in.

_S: I’m just kidding, don’t have a heart attack please_

_S: Motorcycles are terrifying but you looked unfairly badass_

Derek internally vowed to never drive his beloved Camaro again.

_D: I should take you out for a spin sometime_

_S: Oh boy, let’s work our way up to the death-defying stunts_

_S: Speaking of which, if you have a day off this week there’s somewhere I want to take you_

_D: I’m free Wednesday_

Technically, Derek could be free tomorrow since he owned the shop, and Boyd could handle things by himself just fine, but he didn’t want to seem overly eager.

_S: Cool, I get out of class at 2 on Wednesday. Wanna meet me at the Starbucks on Main Street at like 3?_

_D: You want to take me to Starbucks?_

_S: Omg no shut up_

Derek grinned; he could practically hear Stiles’ eye roll.

_S: It’s a surprise !!!_

_D: That makes me nervous_

They continued texting throughout the day, and Derek couldn’t contain his smitten smile every time his phone lit up with Stiles’ name. They talked about anything and everything, and Derek found himself opening up in a way he never had with his past partners. Stiles kept asking him questions about himself, and he seemed genuinely interested in the answers. Derek asked Stiles just as many questions, and by the end of the day, Derek felt like he knew Stiles better than anyone else in his life. 

He knew Stiles’ favorite color (blue, like his Jeep) and why (it was his mom’s favorite). He knew that Stiles tried his best to make his dad eat healthy food to help lower his cholesterol, but that his dad had an affinity for fried foods (something that ran in the family). He knew Stiles’ prospective major (math) and that he was hoping to transfer from the BH junior college to UC Berkeley. He knew that Stiles had ADHD and anxiety, and that he was on medication (Derek told him in return that he’d been taking antidepressants since he was nineteen). He knew that Stiles liked comic books and trading card games, and that his childhood friend Danny had been his first (and ill-advised) kiss, and that Stiles got tattoos because it helped him with his body image (Derek told him he thought he was beautiful, and Stiles replied _shut up_ and then _thank you_ ).

In turn, Derek told Stiles about his sisters, who he loved very much even though they drove him up the wall to this day; his paralyzing fear of spiders, and obsession with wolves; and his love for science fiction, because he was fascinated by imagining the kinds of technology humanity might invent in the future.

Monday and Tuesday passed in much the same manner, the difference being he had Boyd and Erica there to tease him about the way he kept smiling softly down at his phone when he was supposed to be working.

“Are you even listening to me?” Erica asked. It was mid-shift on Tuesday, and Derek had barely gotten any grease on his hands. Instead, he sat in the chair behind the front desk, engrossed in a text conversation with Stiles.

“Yup,” Derek muttered, eyes glued to his phone.

“Okay,” Erica said with a smirk, “Boyd and I are going to go fuck in the break room.”

“Mhm,” Derek hummed, not noticing Erica’s answering eye roll.

_S: I can’t wait until I’m done with my GE requirements_

_S: This prof is so pedantic, he probably jerks off thinking about theory_

Derek chuckled and began typing a reply, but looked up when he heard someone say his name.

“What?” he said dumbly, wondering when Erica had walked in.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes,” she spat, and reached down to snatch Derek’s phone out of his hands.

“Hey!” Derek cried as he tried unsuccessfully to grab it back.

“Nope!” Erica scurried away to the other side of the desk, out of Derek’s reach.

“You’re not getting this back until you’ve done some actual work.”

“You realize I’m your boss and not the other way around, right?” Derek grumbled, but he felt a little guilty when he looked at the clock. He hadn’t realized how much of his shift had passed while he’d been talking to Stiles.

“Oh come on, Derek, we both know I wear the pants here,” Erica said, tossing her thick blonde hair over her shoulder, “and I look better in them anyway.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but stood up and made his way into the garage.

“Okay, sorry, I got a little distracted.”

“I’ll say,” he heard Erica mutter before the door swung shut behind him, and he went to see what he could help Boyd with before the day ended.

Wednesday morning finally rolled around, and Derek was puttering around brewing coffee when his phone buzzed.

_S: So, we set for later?_

Derek chuckled. As if he could forget the mysterious date they had planned.

_D: Starbucks on Main at 3?_

Stiles’ reply came in while he was pouring his first cup of coffee.

_S: Yessiree! I should probably actually listen to my lectures today lol so I’ll see you then_

Derek felt a small pang of guilt about being so distracting the past couple days, but he figured Stiles was responsible enough to handle his own education.

The morning passed slowly, Derek trying and failing to occupy himself with various books and tv shows. Finally, he gave up, the nervous energy in his limbs proving to be too much, and put on his running shoes.

He was jogging back towards the house an hour later when his phone lit up with his sister’s name.

“Hey, Laura,” he panted into the receiver, “I’m just getting back from a run. What’s up?”

“Oh, I was just calling to check on my favorite little brother,” she said, “to make sure you haven’t gone totally batshit from living in the boonies.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek told her he’d get cleaned up and call her back.

After a quick shower, he re-dialed his sister’s number and put his phone on speaker while he assembled a quick lunch.

“So, how’s small-town life treating you this week?” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“Have you gotten tired of it yet?”

Derek sighed. His sisters were constantly bugging him about moving back to New York, and he hated to disappoint them.

“Sorry, but no. I still love it here,” he said, opening the fridge and scanning his options.

“Business is great, Erica and Boyd are great, everything’s really great.”

He pulled out the ingredients for a turkey sandwich and set them on the counter.

“You know I love Boyd and Erica, but have you made any other friends?” Laura asked.

“You know, people who aren’t on your payroll?”

Derek grimaced. He’d been hoping to avoid bringing up Stiles to his nosy older sister, but he wouldn’t lie to her either.

“Not exactly,” he hedged, hoping she would drop it.

“And what exactly does that mean?” she asked, suspicious, and Derek winced.

“I sort of, uh,” he paused, and set the knife in his hand down on the counter.

“I met someone,” he admitted at his phone, and his sister let out a squeal.

“ _Someone_? As in, someone to _date_?”

He rolled his eyes, and continued spreading mayonnaise on a slice of whole wheat bread. 

“Yeah, someone to date,” he echoed, and then paused again, “hopefully.”

“Oh, come on,” Laura whined, “stop beating around the bush and give me the juicy details!”

“Well,” Derek thought carefully about what he said next, knowing it would probably be relayed to his entire family as soon as this conversation was over.

“This guy came into the shop to get his Jeep worked on, and we just hit it off,” he explained.

“What’s he like?” Laura asked, and Derek could practically hear her taking notes.

“He’s twenty-three, and he’s a prospective math major finishing up GE’s at the junior college,” he went on, “and he’s gorgeous and kind and funny and perfect.”

Derek snapped his mouth shut, and felt his cheeks flush. He hadn’t meant to gush, but something about Stiles just made his brain go fuzzy.

Laura cooed.

“That’s so sweet, little Derek has a crush! Have you gone on a date yet?”

“Yeah, we went to a diner over the weekend,” he said, cutting his finished sandwich into halves and moving it onto a clean plate, “and he’s taking me somewhere today but he insists on it being a surprise.”

“How romantic,” Laura sighed, and Derek chuckled.

“I guess,” he said, sitting down at the table, “so far the mystery of it has just been driving me nuts. All I know is it’s somewhere near downtown.”

“Well, at least you know he’s not planning on dragging you to a secluded spot and leaving your lifeless body to be scavenged.”

Derek froze with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“That’s disturbingly specific,” he muttered through a mouthful of turkey.

“If all goes well today, maybe we’ll have a halfway interesting guest at the gala for once,” Laura said excitedly.

“Oh boy, Laura,” Derek said, grabbing a napkin and wiping off a dab of mustard that had somehow found its way onto his nose, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? I barely know the guy, really.”

He paused, considering that fact. He’d only known Stiles for less than a week, but it felt like so much longer for some reason.

“When did you say your date was again?” Laura asked, and Derek glanced at the clock on the stove.

“Shit, it’s in an hour,” he said, “and judging by how long it took me to get ready last time, I should start trying to figure out what I’m going to wear.” 

He looked mournfully down at the second half of his sandwich, and then stood up to put the plate in the fridge for later.

“You, actually putting effort into your appearance?” Laura asked, sounding flabbergasted.

“Wow. He must be really hot.”

“He is,” he agreed as he hastily threw the sandwich ingredients back in the fridge, “but he’s so much more than that, too. I don’t know, he’s all I can think about, I feel so stupid.”

“That’s not stupidity, little brother,” Laura said with a chuckle, “that’s puppy love.”

“Don’t go putting ideas in my head,” Derek said sardonically, “or I’ll end up saying something really embarrassing today.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go gussy yourself up for your boy toy,” Laura said, and he could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows, “but call me later and tell me how it goes!”

“Okay,” Derek said, scooping up his phone and taking her off speaker, “I’m sorry we just talked about me the whole time. I want to hear how you’re doing, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry your little head, this family gossip was worth a fortune,” she said gleefully.

“Great,” he said sarcastically, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m so glad you’ve got your priorities in order.”

Laura laughed.

“I’m happy for you, little bro, I really am,” she said, her tone softening, “now go, go get ready!”

“Okay, okay,” Derek chuckled, “bye, Laura.”

“Call me later!” she repeated, and then hung up.

Derek walked back to his bedroom and plugged his phone in to charge, and then set about choosing an outfit for his mysterious date. He opted for a slightly more comfortable pair of dark-wash jeans with a navy blue t-shirt, and a pair of converse sneakers. He looked over his reflection in the mirror, and shrugged. Surely Stiles wouldn’t judge him by his clothes, anyway. He was far too good of a person to be that shallow.

Derek picked up his phone to check the time: two-thirty. He would be just a little early if he left now. Grabbing his keys and leather jacket, he made his way out to the garage and climbed onto his motorcycle. He strapped on his helmet, trying to tamp down the pre-date jitters, and then he was off.

Derek parked his motorcycle a few spaces down from the Starbucks and looked around. He didn’t see Stiles outside, but he was a few minutes early still. Securing his helmet to the bike, he walked the short distance to the glass doors of the coffee shop and peered inside. He didn’t see Stiles inside, either. This presented a conundrum. Did he wait inside, or outside? Had Stiles specified if they were actually going to Starbucks first, or were they just meeting there?

Derek pushed the door halfway open, and then changed his mind and let it swing shut again. He had just changed his mind again, thinking he didn’t fancy being cited for loitering, when he heard someone call his name.

He turned around and saw Stiles hurrying towards him.

“Hey,” he said with a grin, which Stiles returned.

“I was watching you from across the street,” he said as he approached, “what were you doing?”

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t decide if I should wait inside or not,” Derek answered, embarrassed.

His date tipped his head back and laughed, and Derek flushed.

“I thought I was supposed to be the anxious one,” Stiles finally said with a mischievous smile, and Derek relaxed.

“But no, I don’t actually want to go to Starbucks, I prefer to support independent places,” the shorter man explained, “it just makes a convenient meeting spot.”

Stiles pulled a pack of American Spirits out of his pocket as he spoke, and Derek was mesmerized as he popped one between his lips and lit it, delicate tendrils of smoke curling through the spring air.

“So, have you figured out where I’m taking you?” Stiles asked as he led Derek down the street, away from the center of the downtown area.

“No,” Derek admitted, tearing his eyes away from Stiles’ mouth so he could think clearly, “I haven’t spent much time in this part of town, so I really have no idea.”

“I’m taking you to the greatest establishment in Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, waving his hands theatrically for emphasis.

“Then we’re going the wrong way,” Derek said with a smile, “the bar is on the other side of the mall.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles aimed an elbow at Derek’s side, which the older man deftly sidestepped with a laugh.

Derek asked Stiles about school, and Stiles groaned and began complaining with enthusiasm. He was telling Derek about a weird kid who showed up in his philosophy class and attempted to debate the professor about the morality of abortion, when he suddenly cut himself off.

“We’re getting close,” Stiles said with an excited grin, dropping his cigarette to the sidewalk and crushing it with his boot.

Derek yelped when there were suddenly tattooed hands covering his eyes, and Stiles laughed. 

“I told you, it’s a surprise!” he exclaimed, and started herding Derek blindly down the street, walking close enough behind him that Derek could feel the carabiner on Stiles’ belt loop brushing against his hip. Derek blushed at their proximity, and tried not to stumble over the uneven sidewalk.

After a moment, Stiles stopped and pulled his hands away with a shouted “ _ta-da_!”

They were standing in front of a humble glass-fronted storefront, unassuming except for the impressive collection of flashing neon signs advertising an array of classic arcade games.

“Oh, wow,” Derek said, a smile spreading across his face.

“Do you like it?” Stiles asked, “I know it’s nerdy, but—”

“Stiles, it’s perfect,” Derek said, grabbing the other man’s hand and pulling him through the door.

“You know me, I love nerdy. But I haven’t been to an arcade in like ten years,” Derek said, gazing around at all the games with awe, “so my skills are probably a little rusty.”

Stiles grinned impishly.

“Then prepare to get creamed, big guy.”

Derek did, in fact, get creamed.

“This is more stressful than I remember it being,” Derek muttered as he struggled to aim his plastic gun at the screen and fire at the animated enemies encroaching on him. 

There was very suddenly a zombie directly in front of him, and Derek yelped in panic and began firing indiscriminately. YOU DIED, the game told him cheerfully, and Derek sighed and turned to his date, who was attempting to hide his giggles behind his hand.

“You totally got scared,” Stiles managed to say through his laughter, “of a video game.”

Derek scoffed, but he couldn’t smother his grin at Stiles’ mirth. The other man really was fucking adorable.

“I ain’t afraid of no zombies,” Derek insisted as he put the toy gun back in its holster, but Stiles just laughed harder.

“Okay, big guy,” Stiles said finally, and tugged Derek away from the shooting game, “but let’s find something less _stressful_ to play before you have a heart attack.”

A few minutes later found them bent over an old Pac-Man game, Derek cheering on his date from over his shoulder as he directed the little cartoon circle around the pixel maze full of ghosts.

Stiles managed to beat more levels than Derek ever had, and he let out a whoop of victory as his total score appeared on the screen.

“That’s the best I’ve ever done!” he exclaimed with child-like glee, and Derek grinned. 

“I guess I’m your lucky charm,” he said, and Stiles looked up at him with a proud smile.

Before he knew what he was doing, Derek swooped down and caught Stiles’ mouth in a chaste kiss. The other man made a quiet noise of surprise, and Derek pulled away quickly. 

An apology was on its way out of Derek’s mouth, but Stiles spoke first.

“Wait, wait, come back, I wasn’t ready,” he said, straining to move his face closer to Derek’s again.

Derek chuckled and obliged his date, capturing his lips again, and threaded his fingers gently through the soft hair at the base of Stiles’ neck. 

After a moment, they pulled apart, and Stiles took a shaky breath as he opened his eyes.

“I didn’t know Pac-Man could be so romantic,” he muttered.

“Maybe _waka-waka_ can be our _always_ ,” Derek said with a smirk.

“Oh my god, _shut up_ ,” he cried, and reached up to pull a laughing Derek back in for another kiss.


	4. All My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song All My Friends by Knocked Loose
> 
> I’ve ridden on the back of a motorcycle exactly twice in my entire life, so please forgive me if I glossed over anything important. (This chapter is the only good thing I got from my relationship with my motorcycle-riding ex-boyfriend :P)

It had only been a couple days since they’d seen each other, but Derek was growing anxious to see Stiles again. Since their first kiss on Wednesday, he’d been hard-pressed to think of anything else. His mind tortured him all day long by imagining all the other places on Stiles’ body where Derek could press his lips.

Finally, Derek cracked and picked up his phone.

_D: Are you free this afternoon?_

Stiles replied almost instantaneously, which made Derek grin.

_S: Yes!! I get out at 2_

_D: I want to take you out on the bike_

Stiles took a little longer to respond this time.

_S: I guess I can’t back out now without being a huge wimp, huh_

Derek chuckled and wrote back.

_D: Nope. But I wouldn’t judge you, even if you were a huge wimp_

_S: Wow thanks_

_S: Do you have an extra helmet_

_D: Of course_

_S: Okay, meet me outside the library at 2_

_S: I’m scared but also excited!!_

_D: Okay, see you. It’ll be fine, I promise :) Oh, and wear a sturdy jacket!_

_S: Okay :)_

Derek slid his phone into his pocket with a smile, hoping he might finally be able to focus on work.

Just before two o’clock, Derek climbed onto his motorcycle and made the short trip to the nearby junior college. He found a spot just outside the library, took off his helmet, and settled in to wait.

A few minutes later, Derek spotted Stiles among the crowd of students exiting the library. Derek grinned at the way Stiles waved his hands in the air as he talked animatedly to a red-haired woman and a blonde jock-looking guy. The muscular man shoved at Stiles shoulder, almost sending him toppling onto the grass. Derek’s hackles rose, but Stiles recovered quickly and shoved the taller man back, laughing, and Derek relaxed.

Then Stiles glanced up and saw Derek sitting on his bike, and a different kind of smile lit up his face. Without a backward glance, he broke into a jog and ran towards the parking lot. Derek had very little warning before Stiles was throwing his arms around his neck and pressing a hungry kiss to his lips. Derek smiled against Stiles’ mouth, glad that the other man seemed to have missed him, too.

Derek opened his eyes and saw Stiles’ classmates walking towards them. He pulled back, laughing when Stiles tried to follow him with his lips. 

“Your friends are coming,” he muttered as he disentangled himself from Stiles’ arms and linked their hands together instead.

“You must be Derek,” said the redhead as they approached.

“I’m Lydia, and this is my boyfriend, Jackson.” 

“Hey,” Derek said with a smile. The jock guy- Jackson- nodded wordlessly, seemingly happy to let his girlfriend do the talking.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Lydia smiled sweetly.

“Stiles hasn’t shut up about you all week.”

Derek grinned up at a blushing Stiles.

“Now, that being said, if you ever hurt my friend,” Lydia said, the saccharine smile not leaving her face, “I will ruin you, thoroughly and completely.”

Derek’s smile faltered. This girl was kind of scary.

“O-kay, well, thanks for that Lydia,” Stiles said, making shooing motions with his hands, “now please leave my boyfriend alone so he can take me out on his murder vehicle.”

Derek’s heart did a little jig at Stiles calling them _boyfriends_.

“See you, Stiles,” Lydia said, linking her arm with Jackson’s and turning to walk away.

“You too, Derek,” she threw back over her shoulder with a smile reminiscent of a wolf baring its teeth.

“I’m sorry about her,” Stiles said with a wince, and Derek returned his attention to his _boyfriend_ , “she can be a little, uh, dramatic.”

“She means well,” Derek said, raising a hand to brush his knuckle down Stiles’ cheek fondly, “even if she is a little intimidating.”

“You should see her in class,” Stiles said with a wry grin.

“She’s, like, a genius. All our professors are terrified of her because they know she’s smarter than they are.”

“Remind me to never introduce Lydia to Erica,” Derek said, shuddering at the thought, “they would be unstoppable. The world would never recover.”

Stiles laughed, and then looked down at his feet nervously.

“Was that okay, when I called you my boyfriend?” he asked, and bit into his plump lower lip.

“Of course, baby,” Derek said, and grinned when Stiles looked up, blushing at the pet name.

“I’ve wanted you to be mine since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he admitted, hoping his honesty wouldn’t be too much.

“Me too,” Stiles said, flustered, “I mean, you too. I mean-”

Derek chuckled and silenced his boyfriend with a kiss.

Eventually, they managed to stop making out long enough to get a helmet over Stiles’ head. Derek gave him the essential how-to’s as he fastened the strap under Stiles’ chin.

“Hold on tight and lean with me.”

“That’s it?” Stiles asked warily.

“Pretty much,” Derek said with a wry grin.

“I’m in charge of everything else.”

Stiles eyed the bike with trepidation.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“Well,” Derek paused, “usually when you take out a new passenger, you try to keep it short. But I trust you, so… wanna go to the coast?”

“The coast?” Stiles repeated, sounding surprised.

“That’s pretty far.”

“Yeah, well,” Derek said with a shy smile, “there’s somewhere I’ve been wanting to take you.”

Stiles’ eyes crinkled as he smiled beneath his helmet.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, “and I trust you too, by the way.”

Derek’s grin widened.

“Okay,” Derek said, “the coast it is, then. If you want to stop at any point, just hit my leg with your hand and I’ll pull over as soon as I can, okay?”

Stiles nodded, and Derek pulled his own helmet on.

“Alright,” Stiles muttered to himself, “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Derek said with a smile, and flipped Stiles’ visor down, “now get on!”

Stiles took a deep breath and then threw his leg over the bike and settled behind Derek, wrapping his arms tightly around the older man’s waist. They were essentially spooning, and Derek felt himself blush a little. He shook his head gently to dislodge his thoughts, and focused on riding.

Derek went through the practiced motions of starting the bike, and the engine roared to life. Stiles let out a whoop of laughter, and Derek grinned.

“Ready?” he called over his shoulder.

“As ready as I’ll ever be!” Stiles replied.

Derek walked the bike backwards out of his parking spot so that they were pointed towards the street, and then they were off.

The sound of the engine didn’t really allow for conversation, but Derek wanted to check in with Stiles and make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack back there. The first time they stopped at a red light, Derek shouted over the noise of the bike.

“You okay, Stiles?”

“Yeah!” he answered. 

“Yeah, I’m good!”

He didn’t sound nearly as nervous, and he’d been a perfect passenger so far, so Derek let himself relax. He threw up a thumbs-up just as the light changed, and they sped off again.

As they headed for the coast, the buildings thinned, replaced by stands of trees and wide, open fields. Derek took a deep breath of fresh springtime air, and smiled contentedly beneath his helmet. 

They had just reached the curving road that went up and down the coastline, the dark blue expanse of the sea stretching out beside them, when Derek felt Stiles tap twice on his thigh.

Tamping down the immediate rush of concern, Derek stopped at the next pull-out and turned off the bike. 

“What is it? Are you okay?” Derek asked in a rush, and pressed his hand over where Stiles’ arms were still wrapped around his chest.

“I’m okay, everything’s fine!” Stiles said, twining their fingers together over Derek’s heart.

“Sorry to scare you, I just wanted to stop for a second. Really, I’m fine, I swear.”

Derek breathed a sigh of relief, and then pulled off his helmet.

“Do you wanna get off?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and then clambered off awkwardly, almost toppling to the ground with a giggle.

“I’ve got sea legs,” he muttered, and shook his feet to get the blood flowing.

“So,” Stiles said, pulling off his own helmet, “sorry again that I freaked you out, but I really need a cigarette and I wasn’t sure if I could smoke where we’re going, so…” 

Derek smiled and climbed off the bike. 

“It’s okay,” he said, taking Stiles’ helmet from his hands and securing it on the bike, “I’m just glad you weren’t, I don’t know, dying... somehow.”

Stiles laughed, and reached into the chest pocket of his black jean jacket to retrieve his American Spirits.

“Nope, no dying allowed,” he said, pulling out a cigarette, “dying is strictly off the table.”

Derek chuckled and then watched as Stiles cupped his hand around his lighter and turned this way and that, trying to shield the flame from the coastal winds. Finally his cigarette lit, and he looked out across the water as he took a few long drags.

“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” he said, walking closer to the edge of the steep cliff and looking out over the mist-covered water.

 _Yeah, you are_ , Derek thought, and then groaned internally at his cheesiness.

“Yeah, I don’t come out here enough,” he said instead.

“Me neither,” Stiles agreed, “I’m glad you thought of it.”

They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, just listening to the crash of the waves against the rocks. 

“You’re shivering,” Derek said after a while, noticing the man beside him shaking slightly.

“Well yeah, it’s cold,” Stiles said, rubbing his hands together.

“I did tell you to bring a sturdy jacket,” Derek teased, but sidled up behind his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Unless cuddling was your plan all along,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ ear, “in which case, I approve.”

The smaller man laughed, snuggling back into Derek’s chest.

“This is my warmest jacket,” he admitted, “I don’t usually need more than this. It gets pretty cold on the bike, though.”

“I’ll have to buy you a leather jacket,” Derek said, pleased by the mental image of his boyfriend sporting something Derek had picked out for him.

“Ha ha,” Stiles said sarcastically, and Derek’s brow furrowed.

“I get it, I’ll wear more layers next time,” the shorter man said wryly, and turned around so they were face to face. He gave Derek a quick peck on the lips, then extricated himself from his boyfriend’s arms and bent down to put his cigarette out in the dirt, making sure the flame was thoroughly extinguished. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Stiles cried enthusiastically, walking back towards the bike.

Derek smiled and followed his boyfriend, wondering how in the world he got so lucky. 

Stiles scrambled off the bike, tugging his helmet off hurriedly.

“Oh my god, it's so cute,” Stiles said with awe.

They had stopped in front of a tiny one-story building, painted in white and pastel pink stripes, with a patch of yellow wildflowers next to the door completing the adorable picture. A hand-painted sign over the door identified it as _Patrick’s Saltwater Taffy_.

“I know,” Derek said with a grin, taking off his helmet.

“How did I not know this was here?” Stiles muttered.

Derek took Stiles’ helmet out of his hands and secured it to the bike.

“I happened to find it the first week I moved here,” he said, moving to stand beside Stiles and twining their hands together.

“Just wait till you see how many flavors there are.”

Twenty minutes later the two men re-emerged from _Patrick’s_ bearing small plastic bags full of the most peculiar flavors they could find in the little shop.

“I still can’t believe they have _bacon flavor_ ,” Stiles said as they walked hand-in-hand back to the bike, “I can’t wait to eat it all.”

“Don’t eat it all at once, you’ll make yourself sick,” Derek cautioned with a lopsided grin.

“Oh, I am _absolutely_ going to do _exactly_ that,” Stiles said without a trace of sarcasm, and Derek laughed and pressed a kiss to the side of his boyfriend’s head.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly.

“You like it,” Stiles replied, beaming up at him.

In lieu of an answer, Derek leaned down and captured the other man’s lips in a kiss.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the cold,” he said when they finally broke apart.

Stiles smiled softly, his eyes warm, and Derek felt a heat bloom in his chest that not even the icy wind that whipped around them on the ride back to Beacon Hills could extinguish.

Derek parked the motorcycle next to Stiles’ jeep in the darkening parking lot of the junior college, and sighed as he took off his helmet. He hated saying goodbye to Stiles, especially when he didn’t know how soon he’d see his boyfriend again.

Stiles clambered off the bike gracelessly, and Derek chuckled.

“I’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Stiles said good-humoredly as he unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off. He handed it to Derek with a small frown.

“When-” Derek began.

“So-” Stiles said at the same time.

With a grin, Stiles motioned for Derek to go first.

“When can I see you again?” he asked, reaching for Stiles’ hand and tugging him closer.

“Not to be an eager beaver,” Stiles said with a smirk, “but I’m free tomorrow afternoon.”

Derek grinned.

“Perfect,” he said, and tugged his boyfriend into a kiss.

The next day found Derek nervously following Stiles into the local independent record store.

“I’m not cool enough to be in here,” Derek muttered into Stiles’ ear, and his boyfriend laughed.

“You’re with me,” he said, squeezing Derek’s hand, “so you’re already cooler than everyone else in town, just by association.”

“Well I’m glad you have healthy self-esteem,” Derek joked, and Stiles bumped their shoulders together gently.

“Seriously, though, you’re plenty cool,” Stiles said, tugging him towards the first row, “and I just want to look in the local releases. It’ll just be a minute!”

Derek was watching his boyfriend rifle through the records when someone called out Stiles’ name from the front of the store. Stiles looked up in surprise, and then his face split into a grin.

“Hey!” he exclaimed as three twenty-somethings made their way over. 

“Guys, this is Derek,” Stiles said to the group, and Derek raised his hand in greeting, feeling somewhat like he’d been ambushed.

“Derek, this is Isaac,” he went on, gesturing to the tallest of the group. Isaac smiled shyly, somehow reminding Derek of a puppy despite the man’s tattoos and stereotypically punk appearance.

“The illustrious Allison,” Stiles continued, pointing at a girl with curly brown hair. Allison positively beamed at him, and Derek found himself smiling despite his nervousness.

“And this is Scott.”

The last of the three- Scott- was holding hands with Allison, and Derek realized this was the same Scott-and-Allison that Stiles had told him so much about. He’d also mentioned an Isaac before, he was sure of it. _Shit_ , these were Stiles’ closest friends.

“Hi,” Derek said, hoping his voice wouldn’t waver, “it’s so great to meet you guys. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Definitely not as much as we’ve heard about you, dude,” Scott said with a smirk, “seeing as Stiles literally won’t shut up about you. Like, ever.”

Derek blushed as Stiles spluttered beside him.

“Could people please _stop telling him that?_ ” Stiles cried as his friends laughed.

“You guys suck,” Stiles said, crossing his arms, “remind me why we’re friends.”

“Probably because we’re the only three people in town who can stand to be around you,” Scott said with a grin, and Stiles uncrossed his arms to shove at his shoulder playfully.

“Well, if you add me, that’s four people,” Derek said, “and it’s five if you include my employee Erica, who I’m pretty sure likes Stiles more than she likes me.”

“Careful, don’t count too high or Scott here won’t be able to keep up,” Stiles joked.

Scott rolled his eyes.

“Just because I’m not a freaky math genius like you,” he said, and Derek could tell this was a regular back-and-forth between them.

Before Stiles could respond, Isaac spoke up.

“The Erica you mentioned, is it Erica Reyes?” he asked Derek.

Derek’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yeah, actually, how did you know?”

“I went to high school with her and Boyd,” Isaac said with a smile.

“They were so stoked when you hired them. You really changed their life, dude.”

“Well, they’ve both been fantastic,” Derek replied honestly. 

“In fact, they’re my two favorite employees. They’re also my only employees, but who’s counting?”

“Definitely not Scott,” Stiles said, and got a punch in the arm in response.

“Okay, boys,” Allison piped up, “we should leave Stiles and Derek alone now.”

“Yeah, get out of here,” Stiles said, “stop crashing my date.”

“It was great to meet you, Derek,” Allison gave him another warm smile.

“Yeah, man, in all seriousness,” Scott said, “it was nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Derek echoed the sentiment, and then the three of them walked away, leaving Stiles and Derek alone once more.

“Well,” Derek said, breathing a sigh of relief and turning to his boyfriend, “I think that went well.”

“Of course it did,” Stiles said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist.

“I knew they’d like you.”

“Why do you say that?” Derek asked, returning Stiles’ embrace.

“Because _I_ like you, and I’m always right,” the shorter man said with a grin.

Derek rolled his eyes, but couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the corner of his boyfriend’s smile.


End file.
